


Bedroom Hymns

by Scheherezade06



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Priest Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scheherezade06/pseuds/Scheherezade06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Priest!Killian Captain Swan.  Set in an alternate version of S3b.  Storybrooke is cursed... again. This time, Killian Jones is caught in the curse, too, recreated as a man of God. With Henry and Neal in New York on vacation and Storybrooke sealed from the rest of the world, Emma has no choice but to convince Father Jones that he's more pirate than priest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_This is his body_   
_This is his blood_  
 __Such selfish prayers  
_ _ __And I can’t get enough_ _

“Sheriff Swan is here to see you, father,” the nun said after rapping on the door frame. 

The door was open, but Emma was standing behind the sister, unable to see into the office.

“Send her in,” his voice replied warmly.  The sound pulled at Emma’s chest.  “Would you bring us some tea, sister?”

“Of course, father,” the nun said, dipping her head before turning to scurry off.

Emma took a deep breath before stepping forward to look into the office.

It was a small, neat room.  The desk was plain, and the chair behind it was simple. 

He’d been sitting, but he rose to meet her, stepping around the desk as she crossed into the room.

“Oh, my god,” Emma gasped as she took him in from top to bottom.

“Father Jones will suffice, lass,” he said with a wink.  He extended his right hand to her and gave her a winning smile.  “You must be Sheriff Swan.  Pleased to meet you.”

Emma tried to pick her jaw up off the floor. 

He was dressed all in black (which wasn’t surprising), but the little white square at his throat was disconcerting.  Even though she’d already known that in the latest version of the curse, Killian Jones was a priest, seeing it with her own eyes was something else entirely. 

Even without the guy-liner, his blue eyes were strikingly beautiful, bright and animated.  His scruff was gone, revealing a smooth expanse of sharp jaw-line.  His whole countenance seemed different.  The centuries of pain were gone, replaced by some sort of pious calm. 

So different, and yet clearly the same.

Emma licked her lips.  She had come to him as a last resort, really.  She’d tried convincing Mary-Margaret and David to no avail, Regina was one-hundred-percent back in bitch-mayor mode, and Henry wasn’t in Storybrooke.  The boy had been vacationing with Neal when the damn trap had been sprung. 

So, with all the family options taken from her, Emma was left with a pirate.

Emma knew that Hook loved her.  She’d known it since Neverland.  And deep down, she’d reluctantly admitted to herself that she loved him, too. 

But she also knew that True Love’s Kiss wouldn’t work on someone with amnesia.  

The man standing in front of Emma wasn’t  _Hook_.  He was a stranger, someone different and unknown—a  _priest_  for crying out loud.  But she’d seen the way Mary-Margaret and David had been pulled toward each other despite the curse.  Emma had to hope that the same would be true for her and Hook—Father Jones—whatever.  She had to believe that  _True Love_  (she rolled her eyes) would win out over evil and she’d restore he happy endings… Again.  

So, all she had to do was seduce the priest.

 “Lass?  Are you feeling ill?”

Emma realized she’d been staring at the blue-eyed priest, her mind playing cruel and naughty tricks on her.  She shook her head and took his hand, surprised to find it soft, smooth, and unadorned by jewelry.  When he wrapped his left hand around their entwined rights, she jumped and made a shocked little squawk.

 “Miss Swan?” he said, concern coloring his features.

Emma decided to play the blonde card, as she had on too many marks during her bail bondsperson days.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said, giving him a demure grin, “I’ve screwed this up.  I just wasn’t expecting a priest to be so…”

She eyed him up and down, biting her lip and trying to look flustered (which really wasn’t difficult).

“Can we just start over?” she said, looking up at him through her lashes.  “I’m Emma.”

He gave her an indulgent smile. 

“Killian Jones,” he said warmly.  “And I’m very pleased to meet you, Emma.”

He patted her hand and then released her.  He walked back around his desk and gestured for her to sit on the chair opposite.  He didn’t take his seat until after she sank into the chair. 

“How can I assist you, love?” he said.

“Well, it’s complicated,” she said, hesitating as she shifted back into sheriff mode.

“I’ve been told I’m clever, if that is any help,” he teased.

She grinned at that.

“Okay,” she said, taking a breath.  “This is going to sound a little crazy.”

She paused to look at him, and he was watching her with expectation. 

She bit her lip again before speaking.

“Do you ever dream of another life?” she asked.

He burst out laughing. 

Emma had never seen him laugh like that, carefree and open.  It was beautiful.

“Miss Swan—”

“Emma,” she corrected.

“Emma,” he said, “are you trying to ask if I ever regret becoming a priest?”

“No,” she sighed.  “I told you this was going to sound crazy.”

Killian tilted his head to the side and studied her.  Before he spoke again, the nun returned with a tray of tea and cookies.  She set the tray down on the desk.

“Thank you, sister,” Killian said.

They both waited for the nun to leave before speaking again.  Killian carefully poured two cups of tea and offered one to Emma.  She took it, brushing his fingers with hers and watching to see if he reacted to the touch. 

She didn’t know if it was wishful thinking, but she thought that his eyes widened slightly when her fingers grazed over his skin.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Emma busied herself adding sugar to her tea, trying to figure out how to do what she needed to do without scaring off the priest.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said finally, watching him through her lashes as she pretended to study her tea cup.

“Everyone dreams of different lives, lass,” he said, taking a sip of his tea.

He was still hedging, but Emma was sure he was dreaming about his old life.  She’d dreamed of her old life while she’d been in New York.  The dreams hadn’t made sense at the time, all jumbled and confusing, but she’d had them, and she would bet hard cash that Killian was having them too. 

He would have so much more life to dream of.

“What do you know about memory loss?” Emma asked.

“Amnesia?” the priest said, eyebrows rising.  “Not much, I’m afraid.”

“What if I told you your dreams were memories?” she said quietly.

“I’d say that sounds mad,” he replied after just a moment’s hesitation.

She nodded.

He looked away, his brow crinkling.  Emma decided she didn’t want to push him too fast. 

“Just… Just think about it, okay?” she said, searching his face.  “Come find me if you want to learn more.”

He met her eyes and stared at her. 

Emma’s chest grew tight as she watched the weight settle behind his eyes.  She hadn’t wanted to burden him.  She didn’t want to force Hook’s past on this light, happy person, but she needed him back.  She needed all of them back.  And she knew from experience that fake memories, no matter how pleasant, weren’t good enough.

She just hoped he’d agree with her when it was done.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_This is as good a place to fall as any_   
_We’ll build our alter here_   
_Make me your Maria_   
_I’m already on my knees_

Two days later, Father Jones came to the sheriff’s station.

Emma was glad to see him.  She’d wanted to give him some space, but she was also desperate to break the curse.  She’d planned on giving him three days.

He was wearing creased black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a dark gray vest.  He wore the clothes well.  Emma had to admit it was nice to see him in something other than leather or a cassock, but as the same time, a part of her longed for him to be restored to his pirate glory.

“Good morning,” she said, standing up.

He lingered in the doorway, his expression wary.

“Good morning,” he replied quietly, his eyes roving over the room. 

“Here to report a crime?” Emma said conversationally.

“Ah, no,” he said, his eyes meeting hers for a second before darting away.  “I’m here about… the other thing.”

Emma felt a surge of relief wash through her.

“Oh, good.  Great,” she babbled, trying to modulate her excitement.  “Please come in.”

She walked around the desk and approached him.  He was watching her warily, so she refrained from touching him.  She gestured to the chair opposite her desk and then walked to the counter where the coffee pot was percolating.

“I don’t have any tea,” Emma said.  “Coffee?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said.

She heard his quiet steps across the room and the scrape of the chair.  She poured two cups of coffee.

“How do you take it?” she asked without looking, spooning sugar into her cup.

“Black,” he said, his voice coming from right behind her. 

She jumped, and his hands were suddenly on her shoulders.

She spun around, leaving the cups behind, and found herself staring into his curious, hungry blue eyes.  His hands were still on her shoulders.

“How did you know that I dream of you?” he murmured, his voice raw and needy.  “I’ve told no one.”

Emma’s pulse sped up.   She tried to find something to say, but her throat seemed constricted.

“Do you dream of me, too?” he mused in a whisper, his gaze dragging over her face, lingering on her mouth.

He licked his lips, his eyelids dipping as he leaned in closer.

“Hook,” she managed to whisper, her voice breaking.

The name seemed to break the spell.  Killian’s brow furrowed, and he took a step back. 

“Wh—what?” he said, confused. 

He let go of Emma and then skipped back another three steps, as if being near her was unpleasant.  He made the sign of the cross over his chest.

There was no recognition in his eyes.

Emma turned around quickly, closing her eyes and taking a few cleansing breaths through her nose.  She picked up their coffees before pivoting to face him again.  She held out one of the cups to him.

He took it easily, but made sure not to touch her as he grasped the cup.  He was still studying her with critical, apprehensive eyes.

Emma walked past him to her desk, sipping her coffee as she went.  She sat down, closing her eyes again for another second.  This situation was impossible.  Hook, the priest.  Hook, the ridiculously hot man of God.  Emma was going to end up in hell, she knew it.

When she opened her eyes, he was sitting across from her, and his expression had opened up a little bit.  His cup of coffee was cradled between his two hands in his lap.  Her eyes lingered on his fingers, all ten of them.  What would happen to his hand when the curse broke?

_If the curse breaks_ , said an unpleasant little voice in the back of her mind.  Emma shoved the thought away.

“To say that you have my full attention would be an understatement, Miss Swan,” Killian said quietly.  “Please, explain to me what it is you know that I do not.”

“You’re not a priest,” Emma blurted out.

He cocked an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth quirked up.

“I have paperwork that claims otherwise, love,” he said.

“I’m sure you do,” she said, “but you probably don’t remember getting that paperwork.”

Killian opened him mouth to make a retort, but his face crumpled and he pressed his lips together.

“How long have you been a priest?” she asked.

“As long as I can remember,” he said warily.

“Where did you go to seminary?” she asked.

“I…”

He frowned, looking down.

“How old were you when your brother died?”

“Seventeen.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide.

“I haven’t got a brother,” he said.  He crossed himself again and eyed her warily.  “Why would I say that?”

“Because you  _did_  have a brother,” Emma said gently.  “You just can’t remember.”

He chewed on that for a long minute, his lips pursed as his eyes bored into hers.

“And the dreams?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Memories,” she said, holding his gaze.

She watched the thoughts and emotions flicker behind his eyes.  Disbelief, confusion, hope, doubt, pain, apprehension, desire. 

“All of my dreams?” he whispered huskily.  His eyes left hers and traveled down her body before returning to her face.  His gaze lingered on her mouth again before rising to her eyes.

Emma felt her skin warm at the look he gave her.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what you’ve been dreaming,” she said, “but if they’re anything like mine, then they’re more real than not.”

“You have these dreams, too?” he asked again.  He licked his lips.

“I did,” she said.  “I’ve been under the sp—the effect you’re under before.  Memories and dreams get fuzzy and you can’t remember a lot of details about your life.”

“So, I’ve been drugged?” he asked.  “Hypnotized?”

“In a way, yes,” she said, glad for an explanation that didn’t involve magic. 

“Why me?” he asked, brow quizzical.

“It’s not just you,” she said.  “It’s the whole town.  Everyone’s been… reprogrammed.”

“But not you?” he asked, eyes narrowing a little.

“Not me,” she confirmed. 

“Why not?”

“I’m… well, it, uh, doesn’t work on me.  Anymore.”

He took another minute to process what she’d said.  She let him have the time he needed, staying quiet and sipping her coffee.

“Why are you telling me?” he eventually asked.  “Why not someone else?”

“Because you’re…” Emma started.  She chewed on her lip for a moment.  “Because you’re the one who helped me when I was under the effect.”

He frowned, thinking about that for a moment.  He took a drink of his coffee.

“What is ‘Hook’?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.  “Why did you say that when I… Why did you say that before?”

Emma licked her lips, trying to determine how to answer.

“It’s… It’s something from your past—your  _real_  past,” she said.  “It’s something you need to remember.”

“I need to remember a hook?” he asked incredulously.  “Like to a song?  Blues Traveler?”

Emma couldn’t help but grin.  It was too bizarre to see knowledge of her world come out of his mouth, even if she knew it wasn’t really  _him_  speaking.

“Not exactly,” she said with smirk.

“Then what is it?” he pressed, brow furrowed.

She bit her lip.

“Not yet,” she said, shaking her head.  “You’re not ready for that, yet.”

He frowned again.

“I think… I think we need to take things slow,” she said.  “When you helped me, you had a… uh, an antidote for me to take, but I don’t have one for you.  So, I think we need to work slowly.”

_I need to make you fall in love with me_ , she thought wistfully.

“Why can’t we simply procure another dose of the antidote?” he asked.

“Because I don’t know how to make it,” she said, “and everyone else in town is under the effect.”

“Then we should go fetch it from Boston,” he said.

She bit her lip again, knowing that her next words would be difficult for him to hear.

“No one can leave town,” she said, watching carefully for his reaction.

His eyes narrowed again, and he cocked his head. 

“How convenient,” he said sarcastically.

“It’s really not,” she huffed.

“Perhaps you should speak to Dr. Hopper about these thoughts you’ve been having, lass,” he said.

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not crazy,” she said.  “I knew about your dreams, remember?”

He pursed his lips and sat quietly again, using his coffee as a shield.

“Then prove to me that we cannot leave town, sheriff,” he said.  “Surely you should be able to give me some evidence of what you’re asking me to believe.”

Emma snorted at that.

“Oh, that’s priceless coming from a  _priest_ ,” she said, fighting a chuckle.

He looked shocked for a second, and then he laughed.  She loved the sound.  When he was Hook again, she’d have to find ways to make him laugh more often. 

“Seriously, Emma, you’re asking me to take a lot on faith,” he said.  “I may be a man of the cloth, but that doesn’t mean I fall for everything I’m told.  You have to be able to give me something.”

He looked at her expectantly, and she knew he was teetering on the edge of writing her off and giving her a chance.  She had to do something, but what?

Emma’s eye darted around the room as she thought.  She looked at the cells and thought about locking him up.  She dismissed the idea immediately.  Her eyes landed on her keys, and she considered taking him out to the town line.  In previous versions of the curse, bad things had always happened when people tried to leave.  She couldn’t risk it. 

Then she saw the shoelace tied around her wrist.

Emma’s pulse sped up. 

_Graham._

Graham’s memories had awakened after he’d kissed her.  The kiss hadn’t broken the curse, but it had done something to him—opened something in him, and he’d started to remember. 

Maybe it would work that way with Hook.

Emma’s heart was pounding in her chest as she slowly rose from her seat.  Her breath came in heavy pants as she dragged herself around the desk toward him.  She saw the edge of heat come in his eyes.  He knew.  He knew what she was going to do.

She was grateful that he wasn’t in his cassock.

He stared up at her almost defiantly as she stepped close to his chair.  She saw his jaw move as he swallowed.  Reaching down, she slowly, deliberately took two fistfuls of his vest and hauled him to his feet.  He came willingly, offering no resistance. 

She searched his eyes, just inches from hers. 

His gaze was hooded, hungry, but also wary.  He looked conflicted, and she couldn’t blame him.  She was conflicted, herself.

He didn’t stop her, but he didn’t take action, either.  He was passive, waiting. 

His gaze flicked to her mouth, and his lips parted as his breathing accelerated.  She saw his tongue flick out unconsciously to wet his lips.

That sent her over the edge, and she roughly yanking him down to her, crashing her mouth to his.  He went completely rigid, surprised, but then he melted against her, kissing her back as she clung to him in desperation.

She felt his right hand rise to gently touch her hair, just as he’d done in Neverland, and his left hand landed on her hip. 

He made the most delicious sound, a cross between a groan and a sigh, and then the kiss changed.  There wasn’t a burst of magic, but she felt it—she felt  _him_ —for just a moment.  Hook, her Hook, growled into her mouth, gripping her roughly, nipping her bottom lip before deepening the kiss possessively. 

She moaned gratefully, but the moment was over too soon.

Father Jones was back in a heartbeat, and he tore himself away from her, stumbling backwards and nearly falling over his chair.  He put the piece of wooden furniture between them as if it could protect him from her.  He crossed himself again, his eyes wide.  He was mumbling something under his breath, and she thought it might be in Latin.

His hand, shaking, rose to his kiss-darkened lips. 

He stared at her, and she could clearly see the fear in his eyes.

“That was—” he started, swallowing hard. 

Emma chuffed, a small smile touching her lips at his words.

He frowned at her expression, gripping the back of the chair between them so hard, his knuckles went white.

She just watched him, waiting.  Giving him time and hoping.

“Good day, Sheriff Swan,” he finally whispered, his voice broken.  He looked away from her, frowning at the chair, the floor, her desk.  He shuffled past her, seeming unsteady of his feet.  He gave her a wide berth, and she let him go.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, listening to him as he made his way to the door.

“Good bye, Killian,” she said softly, not sure if she wanted him to hear, and not sure if he did.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_You had Jesus on your breath_  
 _And I caught him in mine_  
 _Sweating our confessions_  
 _The undone and the divine_

Emma waited a week for Killian to come back.  He needed time, she told herself.  And time she had.  The whole town was stuck in a bubble and would stay stuck until she could break the curse.  She had to do this right, and something in her said that meant going slow.

But then she saw Henry.

Emma had driven out to the town line to investigate the force field.  It was invisible but solid, smooth and slightly curved like a giant dome of Plexiglas.  She’d been going out to investigate the dome once a day.  She’d followed it out to the shore and back into the forest.  She’d dug down to see if it continued below the earth (it did).  She’d brought ladders to see if she could find an upper edge, but it appeared to continue unbroken all the way across the sky.

Emma was leaning on the hood of the bug, frowning at the invisible barrier when a brown Jeep came around the curve at the end of the road.  The car got steadily closer, but Emma couldn’t hear it.  Emma watched in horror, terrified that the car would hit the barrier and crash.  She spread her arms, gesturing for them to stop, to turn around.  Instead, the vehicle silently stuttered to a halt several yards short of the line.  Emma watched as Neal tried to start the engine, but the car refused to cooperate.  Henry climbed out of the passenger side and approached the town line, frowning.  His eyes passed unseeing over Emma and her car. 

Henry stepped forward, almost to the line.  His frown deepened, like he was trying to remember something.  He cocked his head to the side and scratched behind his ear.

Neal must have said something, because the boy turned quickly, trotting back to the car. Emma could see their mouths moving, but there was no sound.  Together, Henry and Neal pushed the car around so it was facing the other way.  Henry gave one last wistful look over his shoulder before hopping into the vehicle. 

Silently, the engine started, and they drove away. 

Emma cried all the way back to town.

.

The next day, Emma went to mass.

She knew exactly when in the service Killian noticed her, because he stammered and his cheeks went pink.  Emma told herself again that she was going to hell as she watched the priest shift his weight between his feet and fidget for the rest of the service.  He studiously avoided looking at her portion of the congregation as he performed the blessings and gave his sermon (the content of which, Emma didn’t retain—she was too busy watching his mouth and rubbing her thighs together while she tried to keep her breathing under control).

When the service was done, Killian stood at the doorway of the church, greeting the parishioners and speaking to them individually as they filtered out of the sanctuary.  Emma hung back, waiting to catch him alone. 

When old Marco, the last to leave, had finally finished talking with Killian, Emma watched as he hesitated in the doorway, wringing his hands and licking his lips before turning to reenter the sanctuary.

He knew she was still inside.

“Sheriff,” he called as he let the door swing shut, clearly trying to make his voice sound polite and casual.  Instead it sounded shaky and just a little desperate.  “To what do I owe the honor?”

Emma stood up from the pew.

“Is there someplace we can talk?” she asked, looking around at the nuns and pages that wandered through the large room.

He licked his lips again and swallowed.

“I usually take confession after services,” he said quietly. 

He was shy.  It was adorable.

“Yeah?” she said huskily.  “Maybe I have something to confess, then.”

His eyes widened at her words, and then he ducked his head, hiding his face.  He turned and walked quickly toward the confession booth, opening the door on the right side and stepping inside.

Emma followed him to the booth, but she hesitated before going inside. 

She’d never been in a Catholic confessional before, and her current train of thought had very little to do with being virtuous or repentant.

Taking a deep breath, Emma opened the left side of the booth and stepped inside.

It was dark within, so Emma let her eyes adjust for a moment.  There was a little screen between her compartment and the one in which Killian sat, and she could just make out his outline.  She could hear him breathing.

They sat in silence for a minute.

After a bit, Emma heard Killian inhale.

“This is the part where the person on that side usually says ‘Bless me, father, for I have sinned,’” he said, his voice still a little shaky, but clearly trying for a confident joke.

Emma licked her lips. 

If she was going to hell, she might as well do it properly.

“I’ve been a bad, bad girl,” she said throatily.  “I’ve been careless with a delicate man.”

She heard him inhale sharply again, and then his low chuckle. 

“Is it a sad, sad world?” he replied, his voice taking on a velvet quality.  It seemed that the anonymity of the confessional booth was making him bolder.

Emma couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.

“I’ve been dreaming about you,” Emma said huskily, leaning a little toward the screen.

“Aye?” he breathed.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered back.

“Will you tell me about these dreams, my child?” he asked gamely.

“They’re quite explicit, father,” she teased.

“Mm,” he murmured, “but I cannot properly assign penance if I do not know your sins, love.”

Emma rubbed her thighs together, feeling the heat rising in her body.

She drew in a ragged breath.

“I’ve dreamed about… your mouth,” she said.

He made a small, choked sound, and she heard him shift in his seat, his clothing rustling.

“Go on,” he rasped.

Emma licked her lips. 

They were at a jumping off point again, and Emma wasn’t sure how far she should take things.  She hesitated, breathing hard, and then she heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered on the other side of the screen.  It made her bold.

“I’ve dreamed about you kissing me,” she whispered.

He grunted in response.

“Not just my mouth,” she said.

“Where?” he breathed.

“On my neck, where it’s sensitive,” she said, trailing her fingers along the skin she mentioned.  “There’s a spot, where my neck and shoulder meet, where I like to be kissed and suckled…”

He made an appreciative noise, and Emma heard the rustling of his clothes again.

“And then?” he breathed hoarsely.

“And then you trail kissed down my chest,” she whispered, running her fingers down her breastbone.

 She undid the top button of her blouse.

“You pull my shirt to the side and kiss my collar bone,” she said, “the scruff on your chin scratching my skin.”

“I’m clean-shaven, Emma,” he interrupted, his voice thick.

“Not in my dream, you’re not,” she said.

He grunted again.

She looked through the screen and found him watching her.  His eyes were dilated.  She could only see the tiniest band of dark blue around the inky depths of his pupils.  His right shoulder was vibrating, shaking as he moved his arm in a rhythmic pattern.  He shifted, pressing his forehead against the screen and closing his eyes.  She moved to mirror him, pressing her cheek to the divider and letting out a hot breath through the screen.

He let out a low, strangled moan.

“Emma,” he hissed, his voice raw and shaky.

“I think about your mouth a lot,” she confessed against the screen, enjoying the way the wires grazed her lips.  “Ever since…  Well, you don’t remember it.”

“Tell me,” he begged.

“No,” she teased.

“Please,” he whimpered.

“I want to feel your tongue on my skin,” she said, trying to distract him.  It seemed to work, based on his huff of breath and the renewed shaking of the partition.

“Every time I see you lick your lips,” she said.  “Every time you pronounce some word that lets me see your tongue, I imagine it flicking against my skin, fluttering, laving, stroking hot and wet, raising goose bumps in its wake.”

His breath was coming in ragged pants, the partition vibrating as he leaned against it and moved his arm, up and down, up and down, quick and jerky.

Emma squeezed her thighs together, shifting her weight, wishing for friction.  She refused to touch herself in the confession booth, regardless of what was going on the other side of the partition. 

_Next time_ , a dark voice said in her mind.

“Emma,” Killian pleaded, his voice deliciously wrecked. 

“I want you,” she said, the words costing her nothing.  She let her voice be vulnerable, the darkness and seclusion of the confessional making her feel safe.  “Killian.”

He groaned and grunted, his breathing pausing for a second before he began to shudder against the partition.  He let out his held breath in a long, shaky sigh. 

They sat in silence for a minute, leaning against each other through the screen.   Then Emma heard rustling and the quiet hiss of a zipper.

“Don’t follow me,” he said gruffly, “wait five minutes.”

Emma chuffed, shaking her head at the reversal.

“As you wish,” she murmured as he opened his door and left the confessional.


	4. Chapter 4

_Spilled milk tears,_   
_I did this for you_   
_Spilling over the idol_   
_The black and the blue_

Emma set a timer on her phone for five minutes.

She used the time to get her breathing under control and think about the situation she’d found herself in.

She seemed to be doing well on her seduce-the-priest mission, but what she really needed was for him to fall for her or remember her.  Would seduction do either?

At this point, did she care?

Emma’s desire was still hot and unsated, throbbing with every movement she made.  She rolled her neck, trying to distract herself. 

She should really  _talk_  to the man, not… do what she’d just done.

She sighed and tried to think about Graham and David, and how they’d had glimmers of their past lives before the curse had been broken. 

Maybe that was a better plan of action—to try to awaken Hook.  Emma knew that the toll (troll?) bridge had helped with David and that the red-eyed wolf had helped with Graham.  But what could Emma use to tease the pirate out of the priest? 

There weren’t many places in Storybrooke that held significance to him.  His ship wasn’t in the harbor.  Most of their time spent together had been in the Enchanted Forest, Neverland, on the Jolly Roger, or in New York. 

How could she jog his memory?   

She was still going over that question in her head when her phone buzzed, letting her know her time-out was over.  Emma shut off the alarm and exited the confessional, striding purposefully toward Killian’s office.  She was certain that was where he’d gone.

The door was ajar when she arrived, and the light inside was dim.

“Father Jones?” she said, tapping on the door with her fingernails.

“Come,” he replied gruffly.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.  He was standing near the window, holding the curtain aside so he could look out over the courtyard.

“Shut the door,” he said in a quieter tone, not turning around.

Emma turned away from Killian, pushing the door shut and letting it click into place.

As soon as it was closed, he was pressed against her. 

The man could move so damn quietly.  He shoved her against the door, yanking her elbow to spin her to face him before removing every inch of space between their bodies.  She let out a muffled gasp, and then his mouth crashed against hers.  He used her surprise against her, invading her mouth with his tongue.  His fingers—all ten—wove themselves into her hair, holding her tight as he plundered her mouth, his chest and hips pinning her against the door.

Emma slipped her arms around his neck, mussing his hair as he did hers.  She rocked her hips against his, knowing that he was spent and sensitive, but not caring.  She craved the friction, needed it. 

Sensing what she wanted, he let go of her hair with his left hand and hooked her knee, lifting her leg to wrap around his hip. 

She moaned into his mouth, trying and failing to remain quiet.

“Shh,” he said quietly before reclaiming her lips.

Something about the shush sent her over the edge, and she started frantically trying to undress him.  He’d already removed his cassock before she arrived (thank God), and she’d gotten his shirt half unbuttoned when he stilled her fingers.       

She made a frustrated noise at him, but he held her tight, dropping her leg to take both her wrists in his hands.  He pressed his forehead to hers, like he had in Neverland, and swallowed hard.  He held her there until both of their hearts had slowed and their breathing was more normal.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, his eyes closed, his nose brushing against hers.  “What do you want from me?”

“You remembered something, didn’t you?” she whispered.

“Aye,” he said, breathing the word against her cheek.

“What was it?” she asked.

“A… A sword fight,” he said tentatively, not quite a question. 

She watched him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“We bandied words and I humored your poor form,” he continued, his brow furrowed.  “I drove you to the ground, held you there, teasing, flirting, and then you hit me with a… a…”

“A compass,” she whispered.

He let out a choked breath.

“That’s impossible,” he said, pulling back and opening his eyes.  He shook his head and extricated himself from her arms.  “How can you see my dreams?”

“ _Memories_ ,” she corrected.  “They’re my memories, too, Killian.   _It really happened_.” 

He shook his head again, looking tormented.  His lips began forming words, and she was close enough to make them out.  He put no voice behind them, but his breath alone filled some of the sounds:  _Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed by Thy name…_

Emma frowned.  She was causing him pain, and she hated it.  She hated the situation, and she was going to murder the witch that had put them all here. 

But first she had to break the curse, and that meant hurting him more.

She closed her eyes and slumped back against the door. 

“Killian,” she said gently, “you have to remember.”

He finished reciting the Lord’s Prayer, crossed himself, and took a deep breath before opening his eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

His voice was calm, but the question was loaded.

She licked her lips, lining up her reasons in her mind, but he spoke again before she could respond.

“If these dreams are real, then I don’t want to be that man,” he said.  His voice was low and dark.

Emma’s mouth fell open.

“There is so much  _pain_ ,” he said, his face twisting to show the hurt of which he spoke.  “Anger, tragedy, despair.  Whoever it is you think I am, he is a  _monster_.”

“No,” she protested breathlessly.  “No, he’s not.”

“How can you say that?”

“You’re just… You’re getting bits and pieces,” Emma said.  “That’s not who he is.  That’s not him.”

“Emma, I’ve seen years— _decades_ —of hate and vengeance, torture, murder, and rage,” he spat.  “That man disgusts me.”

“Killian,” she said, reaching for him, but he stepped back, putting his desk between them.

“How could you—how could you  _want_  him?” he accused, looking at her with disgust.

“He’s  _good_ ,” she insisted.  “He saved my father.  He rescued my son—”

“Your son?” Killian said, his expression transforming again.  He looked scared.

“Henry,” Emma said.

“Henry?” Killian said thoughtfully, his eyebrows furrowing, “not… Bae?”

He said the name as if it were painful.

“No, not Bae,” Emma said, biting her lip, deciding what to tell him.  “Bae is Henry’s father.”

“What?” he said, his eyes going wide before narrowing in suspicion.  “That’s impossible.”

“Not impossible, just… complicated,” Emma said with a sigh.  “You’ve been alive a  _long_  time.”

He stared at her, shaking his head with his mouth open.  He blinked several times.

“Am I…” he whispered, “am I some kind of…  _creature_?”

“No, no, no,” she said.  “You’re human.  It’s just compli—”                                                      

“This is—I can’t,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair.  “I can’t do this.  I cannot deal with this right now.”

“Okay,” she said gently.  “Okay, I’ll go… But… This isn’t over.  I’m not giving up.”

His eyes flicked to hers for a second.  He looked terrible.  His fingers were still clutching his hair like he wanted to rip his own head open.

“I’m trapped in Storybrooke,” Emma said quietly, enunciating clearly and trying to keep her voice even, “and Henry is trapped outside.  I will never see my son again unless you help me.”

She watched as he visibly reacted to her words, curling in on himself, flinching and screwing his eyes shut.  He took a shaky breath.  She lifted her hand, stretching it toward him, but he jerked back.

“Please, just go,” he whispered in a tortured voice.

“Killian…”

“Please,” he repeated.

Emma reluctantly left the broken man alone in the darkened room.


	5. Chapter 5

_I’m not here looking for absolution  
Because I found myself an old solution_

She was surprised when he walked into the sheriff’s station a few days later.

He hadn’t shaved and his clothes weren’t as tidy as they’d been before.  His eyes were rimmed with red and there were dark circles under them.

“Killian,” she said, rising and going to him. 

He let her put an arm around him and he leaned on her as she half-carried him to the bench.

“I went to the town line,” he rasped.  “Something happened there, didn’t it?  I was… I was hit by a car?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“But there’s more,” he whispered.  “I did something… I hurt someone…”

“Killian—”

“I  _shot_  someone!” he said with fear and disgust.  “God forgive me.  Did I kill them?”

“No!  No, she’s fine,” Emma said.  “She’s completely okay.”

“Who?”

“I don’t think that’s a goo—”

“Who, Emma?” he demanded.

“Her name’s Belle,” she said.

He sagged against her.

“I don’t know her,” he whispered, confused.

“It’s complicated,” she said with a sigh.

“Emma,” he said, searching her eyes. 

He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing hard.  She held him, and he shifted, pressing his lips to hers once, twice, three times in soft, not-quite-chaste kisses. 

“I… I need…” he said, his trembling hand coming up to touch her hair.  “You’re the only thing that makes sense, Emma.  You’re the only thing that I’m sure is real anymore.”

His lips found hers again, desperate and pleading.  She answered him in kind, trying to sooth him however she could.  He groaned into her mouth, his hands shaking as he stroked her hair and her cheek. 

His lips dragged across her chin, down to her throat.  He pressed her face to the side and nuzzled her neck, seeking out the spot she’d told him about in the confessional.  When he found it, she let him know, gasping and pulling him closer.  He bit down gently, drawing a moan from her. 

“Emma,” he said reverently, like a prayer.

He pulled the collar of her blouse to the side and kissed her collar bone.  He let out a hot breath against her skin, raising goose bumps as his lips trailed down her breastbone.

“Let me worship you,” he whispered against her skin.

Emma let out a choked moan in reply, letting her body fall back against the bench as Killian slid to kneel between her knees.  He leaned over her, nimbly undoing the buttons of her shirt.  His fingers and lips brushed her skin, leaving a trail of fire. 

   He cupped her breasts through her bra, his thumbs brushing her nipples.

“ _Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men_ ,” he murmured, nuzzling her chest.

He slid his hands along her ribs, reaching behind her to the clasp of her bra.  He fumbled with the garment he’d most certainly never encountered in either of his lives. 

Emma arched her back, reaching behind herself to pop the fastening for him.

He smiled at her, tongue caught between his teeth, before pushing the garment up and over her breasts, freeing them to the slightly chilled air.

He covered her skin immediately with his hands and mouth, sucking lightly on her left nipple while he cupped her right breast almost roughly with his left hand. 

“ _Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies_ ,” he said, lapping at her flesh between words as he slowly descended her body.  “ _Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense_.”

He pressed his right palm against the seam of her jeans, cupping her and rubbing lightly before releasing her to undo the button and zipper.

She lifted her hips off the bench, helping as he dragged the tight denim down her thighs. 

He admired her lace underwear briefly, dipping in to kiss the well of each of her hips while her knees where bound together by her trousers.

“ _Thou are all fair, my love_ ,” he whispered as he slipped her panties down her legs.  “ _There is no spot in thee_.”

He pulled her pants and underwear completely from her right leg, leaving them tangled around her left calf.  He kissed and stroked his way down her right leg and up the inside of it, caressing and nipping at the tender flesh above her knee. 

When he settled between her thighs, kneeling as though he were performing some sacred rite, he looked up at her with eyes completely clear.  His expression was calm, almost blissful.

“ _Thou hast ravished my heart_ ,” he said, meeting her eyes.  The words sounded like a confession.

She made no reply, not knowing what to say. 

After a handful of heartbeats, his eyes darkened with desire and his gaze roved down over her form.  Emma could only imagine what she looked like.  Her shirt was unbuttoned and thrust back over her shoulders, her bra shoved up over her breasts, her pants hanging off one leg as she reclined on the wooden bench, her ass on the very edge, legs splayed wide, back arched, skin flushed, chest heaving.  Her arms clutching the wood on either side of her.  She threw her head back, letting her hair stream down behind her.

She felt his breath on her center.  His fingers brushed her damp curls, gently spreading her wide.  She sighed at his tender, tentative touch.  His hand left her for a moment, and she raised her head to see what was wrong.    She was rewarded with the sight of him indulgently sucking on his fingers, eyes closed, his expression ecstatic. 

She must have gasped, because his eyes opened, boring into hers.  A small smirk crossed his features, and she could swear she saw Hook there in his eyes.

“ _Thy love is better than wine_ ,” he recited, “ _and the smell of thine ointments than all spices_.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow, deciding she was done with the scripture.  She reached down, threading her fingers into his hair and pushing his face where she wanted it.

He chuckled, the sound coming from somewhere low in his throat, and then his mouth touched her flesh, and she stopped thinking.

He kissed her, sweetly, his lips moving against her softly.  She gripped his hair tighter, encouraging, and he let his tongue dart out to flick against her sensitive flesh.

They moaned together, lost in the moment, and then his demeanor changed.  He began lapping at her with fervor, his fingers joining his mouth in pleasuring her.  His right hand holding her taut while he wet the fingers of his left hand and then slowly slid one inside her.  He stroked her, inside and out, replacing one finger with another, and then replacing one with two, curving them to slide along her inner walls. 

His tongue danced against her with confidence, and Emma had to bite her lip from calling out  _his_ name—his  _moniker_ —when she decided her pirate must be the one in control.  She found other ways to let him know she was appreciative.  She moaned and writhed, her fingers fisting in his hair. 

He quickly honed in on the things that made her gasp, his tongue flicking the way she liked, his fingers thrusting in the tempo that made her pant. 

He was panting, too, the exertion and the excitement affecting him almost as much as it affected her. 

He groaned into her skin, and she realized she was making a reedy, keening sound with each breath.  She was close, so close.  Her head rolled back and forth, back arched, thrusting her chest higher.  She lifted her right leg and wrapped it around him, holding him tight against her as he sucked on her most sensitive bundle of nerves.

Fire built in her abdomen, and she waited, riding the edge, wanting the crash, desperate.  Her body tensing, muscles vibrating as she held herself rigid, vibrating with desire.  She hung in that infinite moment of anticipation for seconds, minutes, hours.

And then the euphoria hit her, catching her unaware even though she’d been chasing it.  Everything went white as stars exploded behind her eyes.  She cried out wordlessly, body spasming wilding, hands grasping futilely, legs flailing and collapsing. 

Strong arms caught her, held her up as Killian worked her through her climax.  When her body relaxed, he gave her one last lick, making her cry out airily. 

He drew her to him, pulling her limp body down into his lap on the floor.  He wrapped his arms around her and pillowed her head on his shoulder.  He nuzzled her neck, his wet scruff tickling her sensitive skin.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against her flesh, his voice full of awe, “divine.”

She chuffed, unable to make any reply that required words.

“I… I love you,” he whispered.  His arms tightened around you.  “I don’t know how.  I’ve barely met you, but I love you.”

Emma drew back, meeting his eyes.  His brow was crinkled, his eyes wide.

“And I love you,” she said softly, wanting him to see the truth in her words.  “ _You_.  Not just him.”

He smiled, sweet and sad.

“I’ll do anything, Emma,” he swore.  “I’m yours.  Just tell me what needs to be done, and I will do it gladly.”

She licked her lips and took in a breath.  She brought her hand up to his face and stroked his cheek. 

He turned into her touch, closing his eyes.

“Kiss me,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.  “Kiss me and  _believe_.”

“Believe in what?” he asked, his eyes popping open to meet hers again. 

“Believe in  _us_ ,” she said, brushing her thumb across his cheekbone.

He studied her for another moment, his eyes darting back and forth between hers.  Then his gaze dipped to her mouth.  His eyes lingered there, and he licked his own lips. 

His eyes fluttered closed as he leaned forward, and she let her eyes close, too.

And then they kissed.


	6. Chapter 6

_This is his body_   
_This is his love_   
_Such selfish prayers, I can’t get enough_

They say True Love’s Kiss can break any curse. 

“Swan?” he said, voice full of confusion.

Emma choked on a sob, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing him tight.  He wrapped his arms around her, too, stroking her back, but then he suddenly jumped, pulling away.

“When did I get my bloody hand back?” he exclaimed, flexing his fingers and staring at them in fascination.  He leaned back further, breaking her hug.  He was turning his hands this way and that, looking at them as if they were alien. 

Slowly, his whole body stilled as the focus of his eyes changed to what lay just on the other side of his hands.

“Swan,” he said cautiously, swallowing the lump in his throat, “why are you undressed, love?”

He looked around, blinking.

“Why are we sitting on the floo—oh, bloody hell, my head!”

He closed his eyes and gripped his head with both hands, his body jerking in pain.

“Hook?” she asked tentatively. 

Emma scrambled off his lap, yanking her pants free from her left leg.  She self-consciously pulled her blouse shut, doing the top button.  She was grateful that it was long enough to make her decent.

Hook was cursing rather colorfully, still gripping his temples.  She helped him stretch out on the tiles, kneeling above him and replacing his warm hands with her cool ones.  She stroked his temples, pillowing his head on her bare thighs.

He groaned, letting his arms go slack.  Slowly, his face unclenched.  His eyes drifted open after a minute.

“That feels brilliant, Emma,” he said, meeting her gaze.

“Just relax,” she said, her voice shaking a little as she watched him.

“What’s going on, Swan?” he said, brow furrowing at her tone.

“You don’t remember?” Emma said, unsure if she was disappointed or relieved.

“Did the witch cast a spell?” he asked, searching her face.  “We were standing in the…”

His expression shifted again, emotions flickering behind his eyes.  He cast a glance to the window.

“How much time has passed, Swan?” he asked.

Emma licked her lips. 

“About a month,” she said.

“A month!” he exclaimed, bolting up into a sitting position and spinning around to look at her properly.

His eyes raked over her critically, taking in her disheveled appearance.  He glanced at her discarded trousers, looked at the jail cells, and then finally met her eyes.

“Have I done something untoward?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“No,” she said.

She bit her lip.

“Emma…”

“You really don’t remember?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“I remember facing off against the witch and then waking up here,” he said, frowning. 

“Nothing in between?”” she prompted.

“Just… Dreams,” he said, looking off to the side.  “Half-formed and elusive…  Was I acting under duress?  Emma,  _did I hurt you_?”

He gripped her shoulders, searching her face.  Then he saw his left hand again.  He flipped it over, looking at his palm and fingertips.  He noticed something and drew the hand closer to his face.  He stared at his longest fingers, which were damp and slightly wrinkled.  He sniffed and then tasting them.  His eyes widened comically, then he narrowed them.

“Emma,” he said very warily.   

“We had to break the curse,” she blurted out, feeling her cheeks go pink.

“ _Another_  curse?” he muttered, then he did a double-take.  “ _We_?”

“You were cursed,” she said gently.  “I… I needed your help.”

His expression grew dark and stormy.

“You kissed me,” she said, “to break the curse.”

“I have never heard of True Love’s Kiss being administered  _there_ ,” he said, his eyes flicking to her lap.

“Um, well, no,” Emma stammered.  “ _That_  happened before.”

His mouth fell open.  He closed it with a little snap.  She watched the emotions flickering across his features again.  He finally settled on shame.

“Did I force myself on you?” he said, his voice cracking.

He’d asked the question several different ways, and she could only assume he needed an answer.

“No,” she said, meeting his eyes to make sure he knew she was telling the truth.  “You really don’t remember?”

“Emma, I don’t,” he said, exasperated.  “I’ve dreamt of it often enough, I think I would—”

He spied the bench behind her.  His expression went slack again, and then he licked his lips.

“ _There_ ,” he said.  His eyes met hers again, he raised an eyebrow.  “I… recited poetry?”

She chuckled at that.

“In a manner of speaking,” she said.

“Swan…” 

His eyes took on a dangerous glint.  He rose to his feet, startling at his own attire and shaking his head.  He crossed the room to the door and threw the bolt, drawing the shade down over the little window.  He kept one eye on her as he crossed to the other side of the room and closed the curtains.

“Hook,” she said, watching him.  “What are you doing?”

“Ensuring that we are not interrupted, lass,” he said.

Emma’s eyes went wide.

“People are going to be looking for us,” Emma said.

“Aye,” he said, “and they can wait.”

He clipped the words in annoyance, popping the final T.

He strode back to where she was sitting and offered her his hand.  She took it, rising awkwardly to her feet as she tried to maintain a degree of dignity while not wearing any pants.

His eyes lingered on her legs, but he made no comment.  He lifted his eyes to her face and looked at her expectantly.

“What?” she finally asked, feeling self-conscious and annoyed.

“I’d love an explanation as to why you’ve been gallivanting with some git wearing my skin,” he said.

“I wasn’t  _gallivanting_ —”

“What would you call it, then, love?” he sneered.  “Cavorting?  Philandering?”

His expression changed, shock crossing his features before he grimaced at her again in anger.

“What exactly would you call the game you played in that darkened box, Swan?”

Oh, God.  He remembered the confessional.

Emma went red.

“At least you have the decency to be embarrassed,” he spat.

Emma’s mouth fell open.  She stared at him, trying to figure out his mood.  He’d been scared, and now he was angry.  What was he thinking?

“Are you  _jealous_?” she accused.

He sputtered.

“You are!” she gasped.  “You’re jealous!”

“I am not!”

“Liar,” she declared.

He started pacing.

“Do you remember the kiss?” she demanded.  “ _True Love’s Kiss_ , Killia—Hook?”

He was in her face in a second, invading her personal space.

“Does it bother you that your lover shares my name?” he growled, his eyes searing hers.

“My lover is standing right in front of me,” she shot back, glaring.

“Aye, but I’m back in here now, love, so I assume you’re done with that.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said, poking him in the chest.

He rocked back a step before surging forward again, leaning in.

“Temptress,” he hissed.

“Asshole,” grunted.

“Siren.”

“ _Pirate_.”

They glared at each other, breathing hard.  She couldn’t help but look at his mouth.  She licked her lips.  He mirrored her, and then they were kissing.

Emma couldn’t say who had initiated the kiss.  It didn’t really matter.  They kissed each other hard and desperate, teeth clacking, tongues battling for supremacy. 

Emma slipped her arms around his neck, feeling her shirt ride up her back and open in the front.  She grabbed a handful of his hair and repositioned his head to give her better access to his mouth.  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her roughly against him.  Her naked torso was pressed against his clothed one, and the hand he placed on her lower back encountered bare skin. 

He groaned into her mouth, his fingers inching slowly lower.  She surged up onto her tip-toes, making his hand graze down to the curve of her posterior.  He fondled her idly for a moment, and then he gripped her with both hands, lifting her by the hips. 

Emma responded eagerly, snaking her legs around him and rolling her hips.  He groaned again and walked her to the wall, pinning her, and raking his stubble down her chin.  He nipped at her neck, sucking on the place where it met her shoulder, making her cry out. 

Emma got her hands between them and started ripping at the buttons of his shirt.  He growled against her neck, biting lightly and ripping her own garment out of his way.  He pulled the blouse and brassiere up, trapping her arms above her head.  He held her wrists there, diving in to kiss her chest.

Emma rocked her hips against him, moaning and panting, desperate for friction.

He pulled back his upper body, touching her only with his hands and his hips.  He ground his straining erection against her.  Looking down, she could see the wetness of her desire staining the dark fabric of his slacks.

“Is this what you want, Swan?” he murmured roughly, leaning in to speak the words against her cheek.  “To be taken against a wall like some common slattern?”

“I want  _you_ , you dumbass,” she huffed.  “Everything I did was to get  _you_  back.” 

He inhaled sharply.

“Emma…” he said, voice suddenly gentle.

“We don’t have much time,” she gasped, craning her neck to capture his lips.

He moaned into her mouth before pulling back to look at her again.

“I’d rather do this properly, love,” he said, kissing her cheek and releasing her hands.  He nuzzled her neck, caressing her hair with his right hand and her cheek with his left.

She shrugged out of the last of her clothes, letting her shirt and bra fall to the floor.  She wrapped her arms around his neck again.

“We can be proper later,” she said.  “I’ve been stuck with a choir boy for a month.  Show me some pirate.”

He froze for a heartbeat, and then he growled into her neck, turning his head to scrape her lightly with his scruff.

“You’re a wanton thing,” he drawled, his voice taking on a darker, more mischievous quality as he suckled on her throat.  “What would your parents say?”

“They’re probably on their way here now,  _Captain_ ,” she teased.  “So let’s get this show on the road, huh?”

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, princess,” he murmured, nipping at her lower lip.

“Yeah, yeah,” she breathed.  “You’re all talk, Hook.”

That moniker no longer seems to fit, lass,” he quipped.

“Quit stalling,” she said.

He growled again and grabbed her hips, pulling her away from the wall.  She grabbed his shoulders, curious where he was taking her.  He strode across the room to one of the cells and grabbed the thin mattress from the cot.  He yanked it out of the cell and threw it to the ground near the bench. 

He dropped to his knees, laying her out on the mat.  He pulled back, extricating himself from her arms.  Emma protested, but Killian just shushed her again, his eyes roving over her flushed, naked flesh.

“Perfect,” he murmured in awe.

“Tick-tock,” she huffed.  “Take off your pants.”

He snorted and pulled his shirt off instead. 

She hummed in appreciation when his chest and shoulders were revealed to her.  His skin was completely unblemished.  Emma had been certain that Hook’s chest would bear the marks of battles fought, but the curse had washed away all the evidence of his centuries of piracy.  Even the tattoo on his forearm was gone. 

He seemed to notice that last detail at the same time she did.  He looked completely lost for a moment.

“We’ll get it redone,” she said gently.

He tore his gaze away from his arm to look at her.  His eyes were wide and vulnerable.  He searched her expression, emotion flickering behind his eyes.  She saw the love there, warm and inviting, and then his gaze heated further. 

He fell upon her, kissing and fondling his way down to her center.  Emma fidgeted, appreciative, but impatient.

“We’ve already done that,” she protested breathlessly.

“ _I_  haven’t,” he growled, licking her possessively. 

“We don’t have time—oh!” she gasped.

“Won’t take long,” he murmured confidently against her flesh. 

And it didn’t.

Very briefly Emma considered how two different artists could have such different styles when using the same tools.  She’d just received pleasure from this man’s mouth and fingers, but it was nothing compared to what he did to her with his memory restored.

Within minutes, he had her crying out, arching off the mattress, both her hands grasping uselessly at the floor on either side of her.  He rode out her climax, stroking her almost languidly as she slowly melted into the mat. 

While Emma came back to earth, Killian doffed the rest of his clothes.  When she opened her eyes, he was hovering over her, kneeling between her splayed thighs.  Her eyes raked down his body to take in his erection, large and quivering as he held himself back.  Emma licked her lips.

“Well, hello there,” she slurred.

He chuckled.

She reached out her arms to him, and he descended upon her, kissing her passionately, but holding his hips away.  She raised hers to meet his, and he moaned into her mouth as his cock brushed her inner thigh.

He pulled back again, meeting her eyes.

“Are you sure?” he said in a small, desperate voice.  “I can wait, love.”

“I can’t,” she replied, hauling him down on top of her and wrapping her arms and legs around him.  She recaptured his lips and kissed him hard while she rolled her hips, rubbing herself against his erection.

She reached down between them and took him in hand, squeezing him and rubbing his length against her wetness, transferring it to him.  Then she lined him up, pushing the head of his cock inside her before withdrawing her hand.

He held there for a moment, his breathing ragged, his body vibrating.  Emma knew that she should probably let him have his moment, but she was impatient and worried about being interrupted.  She lifted her hips up again, taking in another inch.

He groaned and thrust forward, burying himself inside her. 

They cried out together when he bottomed out, grinding his hips into her, the length of him stretching her just to the edge between pleasure and discomfort.

He held there for another long moment, forehead pressed to hers as he tried to compose himself.  But composure was not what Emma wanted.  She rolled her hips again, making him grunt.  Then she shoved his shoulders back, holding his hips with her legs. 

Once he was upright, she straightened her left leg and swung it over to meet her right.  His eyes popped open as he watched her with dumbstruck awe. 

Emma squirmed sideways, rolling while keeping him inside her.  When he realized her intention, he made a choking sound, but he assisted, shifting his legs to allow her to finish her roll.  She shifted against him, and he clutched her hips while she bent her knees, coming up on all fours.

She ground back on him, feeling the edge of pain again at how deep he could go.  She moaned again and threw him a look over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow.   _Can you handle it?_  

He gripped her hips tightly and began moving, sliding out and then back inside her.

She dropped her weight onto her right shoulder, reaching down to touch herself while he fucked her from behind. 

And fuck her, he did.

His first few thrusts were timid, but he picked up the pace when she reached past her clit to cup his balls with her wet fingers.

He cried out wordlessly and fucked her hard, abandoning all pretense and losing himself in the feel of her tight, wet heat. 

Emma drew small, frantic circles around her clit, chasing her third orgasm in less than an hour.   Her face was pressed into the thin mattress, and she knew her shoulder would be rug-burned from the way Killian’s powerful thrusts shoved her into the fabric.

Emma vocalized her pleasure,  _yeses_  and  _oh gods_  mingling with wordless cries and low moans.  Killian was quieter, grunting and gasping, but making no comment as he rode her toward her release. 

The bastard was waiting for her, she realized.

“Let go,” she commanded, her voice broken by his thrust into her mid-sentence.  “Killian.”

His hips stuttered at the sound of his name ad his rhythm changed.

She felt the difference, the lack of control in his thrusts as he focused on his own pleasure instead of hers.  She moaned loudly, loving the way it felt to be used like that, knowing that her body could make him lose control.

She redoubled her efforts at finding her own release and quickly felt it building. 

She focused on his grunts, his panting breath, and the wet, slapping sounds their bodies made.  Killian’s movements were erratic, unrestrained, and delicious.     Emma soon found herself keening, the muscles in her legs tense as she teetered on the edge of orgasm.

“Yes,” she pleaded, her voice high and airy.

“Yes,” she repeated, louder, desperate, her breath coming shallow and fast.

Emma inhaled, holding the breath as she crashed over the precipice.   Her climax rocked her body, tearing a wordless cry from her throat as she shuddered and twitched, collapsing bonelessly into the mattress.

Killian grunted again behind her, riding out her orgasm before following her into oblivion, grinding his hips sharply into her ass as his cock twitched and spilled inside her. 

He collapsed on top of her and laid there for a handful of heartbeats before rolling, pulling her into a spooning position.  His breath came hot and heavy against her ear, blowing tendrils of sweat-dampened hair into her face.

They laid there for an immeasurable moment, letting their breathing slow and their heartbeats find a rhythm that made Emma feel as though they only had one heart between them.

“That was—” Emma started, her voice airy.

“Definitely  _not_  a one-time thing,” he finished for her, brushing back the strands of hair that had stuck to her cheek.

“Yeah?” she said huskily.

“It could be a once-a-day thing,” he mused, but his voice was a little too raw for the joke to stick.

“I could live with that,” she said, snuggling back against him.

He made little ooph and wrapped his arm around her, holding her tight.

“I love you,” he whispered into her ear, brushing the shell of it with his nose.

“I know,” she said warmly.

“And?” he teased.  “No declarations of love for me, then?”

“I seduced a priest for you,” she teased.

Oh, aye,” he snorted, “I’m sure it was a torturous affair.”

“It was hard!” she protested.

“It’s always  _hard_  for you,” he murmured.

“It’s not right now,” she cajoled.

“Give me a little time, lass,” he chuffed, “I’ve had a trying day.”

Emma grinned at that and shifted, rolling to face him. 

His hand came up to stroke her cheek and he kissed her, sweet and sensually.

When he drew back, she sighed happily and snuggled into his chest. 

She’d just closed her eyes when she heard banging on the door and muffled voices.

“Emma?” her mother called, voice frantic.

“Emma, are you in there?” David shouted.  “Are you all right?”

Emma took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of exasperation.

“Charmed life of a hero,” Killian murmured.

Emma snorted.

“Emma!” Mary-Margaret called again, then her voice lowered to a regular conversational level.  “Her car’s outside, David, maybe we should break down the door?  What if she’s hurt?”

“I’m fine!” Emma yelled, sitting up reluctantly.  “Give us a minute, okay?”

“Emma?  Thank god!” Mary-Margaret said.

“Us?” David asked.  “Who else is in there?  Why is the door locked?”

“Because we didn’t want to be bloody disturbed!” Killian called. 

Emma looked at him in shock, but he was grinning wickedly.

There was a moment of silence from the other side of the door, too.

“Hook—” David said in a choked, threatening tone.

“Bugger off, Dave,” Killian said loudly, winking at Emma.  “Your daughter is fine.  Better than she’s been in ages, I expect.  Why, I’d go so far as to say she’s glowing with satisfaction, mate.”

Emma elbowed Killian in the ribs, drawing another ooph from him. 

“Will you shut up?” she hissed at him.  She grabbed her nearby clothes and started getting dressed.

“What?” Killian said, grinning devilishly.  “Confession is good for the soul.”


End file.
